"Even so. Isn't she, Sue? Of course she is. She can't help it. Though, I say--no wonder you were ages in the library--how does _he_ take it? Oh, you need not pretend, my dear, we can imagine the scene. Our revered parent is not given to mincing matters, and to have Godfrey Stubbs, his dear bloated son-in-law, collapse like a pricked balloon is rough on him. He was so pleased--that's to say he took poor Goff's death so very philosophically, that one knew perfectly how he felt. The money and not the man--it was an ideal consummation. He would have condoled with his poor little Leo, and petted and pampered her--and grinned whenever he was alone. She might have come to live with us _then_----" "A nice jumble you are making of it." It was Maud who interposed, with a vexed face. "It is nothing but a huge joke to you--but upon my word, I don't see a pleasant time ahead for any of us. The bare sight of Leo will be a perpetual grievance, and we shall all reap the benefit." By the evening's post, however, Leo was bidden to come. CHAPTER II. ON THE STATION PLATFORM. "Is that the widow?" A couple of common-looking men with their hats and greatcoats on, were standing, notebooks in hand, in the centre of a handsomely appointed room, and the eye of experience would have seen at once what they were doing there. They were taking an inventory of the furniture. Their task had been momentarily suspended by the opening of the door, and both heads had turned to behold a slight, black-robed figure step forward, then, at the sight of themselves, stop short, turn and vanish--whereupon the one put the above question and the other nodded for reply. "Lor', she ain't but a girl!" muttered the speaker; then paused to rub his chin, and add sententiously: "that's the way with these rich young cock-a-doodles. They marries and lives in lugsury--gives their wives di'monds, and motor-cars, and nothin' ain't too good for them,--then pop! off they goes, and _we_ comes in! Sich is life!" "Godfrey Stubbs was a very decent feller;" protested the other, biting the top of his pencil with a meditative air. "He was misfort'nate, that's all." "Humph? Misfort'nate? Yes, I've heard it called that before. Stubbs ain't the first by a long chalk whose sticks I've had to make a list of because of his dying--or living--misfort'nate. Who's the missus?" "Can't say. There she goes!"--suddenly; and with one accord both stepped to the large French window which stood open, and stared across the lawn. "Just a mere slip of a thing," murmured Joe Mills, under his breath, "'bout my Milly's age, poor lass!" "Lucky there's no kids," quoth his companion, bluntly; "and, 'Poor lass' or no, we've got our work to do. Where had we got to now? Look sharp, and let's clear out of this before she comes back,"--and spurred to activity by the suggestion, the interlude came to an end forthwith.